


Let us prove you wrong

by deadman_withaheart



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: :), All the losers deserve hugs and a happy ending, Anger, Angst, Belly Kink, Ben Hanscom is a Good Friend, Big Richie rights, Fear, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mike Hanlon is a sweetie, Multi, Poly losers(implied), Richie Tozier Needs a Hug, Sad Richie Tozier, Self Esteem Issues, Soft Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris is a good....’friend’, Stanley Uris is anxious, Stozier, Stuffing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Weight Gain, binge eating, but not really, descriptions of sloppy eating, fat hands, fat richie tozier, kinda asshole Eddie Kaspbrak, mobility issues, not consensual touching, richie is Baby, supernatural themes, this might go under real kink territory- if I can achieve it :/
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23180137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadman_withaheart/pseuds/deadman_withaheart
Summary: Richie looks at himself in the mirror and hates what he sees.The losers do not.
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, the losers club/the losers club
Comments: 9
Kudos: 46





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been in writing kinda mood- plus, I’ve got some ideas saved up for later ;) 
> 
> This one is kinda a play off of my other story- but where they’re ALL in Derry and Richie is just...a soft boy.  
> Literally and figuratively. He’s got some issues to sort out and, yeah. I kinda just rewrote his twenty seven years apart back story for myself...ta-da!
> 
> Chapter one is kinda a introduction into the story- the second ones where we really get into the ‘actual plot’- so, I’m sorry for the lack of dialogue.  
> Hopefully the next one will be more eventful and interesting!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> EDIT- I've rewritten this for the second time. it is 2:22 AM, please enjoy. goodnight :)!!

The restaurant wasn't hard to find. It's bright orange, neon sign stuck out like an illuminated sore. A modernized structure amidst the monotonous properties surrounding it. And, from what Mike had described to him over the phone earlier, he was looking for a classical Chinese place.  
When pulling into the crowded lot, the only clue that it held any culture was the signature Asian temple top. Placed together with the expensive looking sign below it.

Not a worthy establishment Richie would find himself salivating over but a decent place. Nonetheless.

At first glance, Richie admired the owners for their 'exquisite' taste in architecture. It's square, and tasteless carbon copy of many dining places a perfect blend into a town that never ages. If added, a placement of well trimmed bushes could have helped pull the design together.  
But a ring of sidewalk cement can do fair, as well.

Parking was the main issue. Usually, Chinese restaurants were scarce. Most chose to rather order in than sit down, but tonight was different. All parking spaces, so far, are full. Occupied by different types or cars with all the same two blue and white colors. Clear favorites within the town.  
Lines of Maine license plates, interrupted by a few randos, stared back at him laughing. Their mixes of capital letters with numbers spelling out insults. Directed at things he didn't understand, or could not remember.

Richie grew frustrated at the circumstances and stuck his tongue out. As if the stagnant cars he passed would pull an ugly face to make him laugh.  
Funny enough, one of them had a stupid clown sticker on the back their wind shield. A classic white faced, red lipped circle with triangles above its comical eyes.

The sticker gave him the creeps, and he looked away before the rising anxiety in his stomach could boil over.

He did another two loops around the parking lot. His endless searching for a spot coming up empty handed as the night went on. All the while cursing at the people inside for eating so goddamn slow.

How long does it take to eat at a Chinese place, anyway? Not as long as the owner of that black Honda, who was there when he showed up at seven-fuckin-o-eight.  
It was now three minutes till eight. And yet, he had showed up early to get a nice, close, spot. But, fuck him for trying to be on time in the first place, right?

Another loop around the lot, and Richie finally gave up on finding a space. The empty parking of a nearby closed business had been faint to call his name when first pulling in. But Richie had been stubborn and refused to park that far away from the entrance. Wanting to, instead, have an easy accessible path straight inside and to his seat.  
No extra struggle, no extra steps.

Too bad any luck he had on him decided to fuck off tonight.

Richie signed while pulling into a parking space he deemed 'the closest' and turned off his engine. The bright yellow, headlights snapping off a second later.  
The cool air of the A/C shutting off doused his skin into a thin, sweaty wrap. Turning his hands clammy.  
He wiped them on his already sweat stained shirt, but stopped after the fact he smelt like a salty wet dog.

Two options were present for him. One, he could turn the car back on, fixing his overheating problem, or two, get out of the car.  
Both had complications.

Deep down in the pit of his gaping stomach, Richie knew that if he turned his car back on he'd book it. Never look back, never think of Maine again, and never confront the fuzzy demons of his past. Living his life ignorant, but safe.

Besides, the thought of confronting friends after all these years left a sour taste in his mouth. One that had the cotton texture of waking up in the morning after drinking a sugary soda before bed.  
A familiar feeling, but only for him.

The rising temperature of his car was starting to produce a large product of thick sweat on his forehead. Making the car reek of unwashed gym clothes as steam condensed on the cold window.  
He would have thought to rest his head against the cool glass, but this was not his car. Only a rental he had purchased with haste after his tiring flight.  
He leaned his head back on the chairs headrest. An unhappy moan vibrating in his throat.

He did not want to be here.

Why? Well, after a certain amount of time, people change. For better, or for worst, they change to fit their own fate. Be it working out, getting a job, and living life to the fullest they alternate their path somehow.  
That single thought terrifies Richie straight to his mushy core.

When he first left Derry, Richie new his life would take a drastic change. One that would forever impact his future.  
And, yes. Getting his shot at being a famous comedian was major but, it was what happened after that mattered most.

Richie found himself falling into a bout of depression. The cause unknown to why, but speculated on his loneliness, as well lack of friends.  
He attempted socializing at parties, to find a cliche, but no one ever stuck around long. Either already bored with him or annoyed by his constant chatter.  
He was an outcast. The ugly duckling in a world of swans too popular for his C-list tastes.

The loneliness manifested a black hole into his heart. Crater sized, and dripping with tears he refused to shed.

Things got more complicated because of that. His passion to flare on stage diminished to stifled, fake laughter. Inspiration for new acts passed down to a ghost writer he doesn't remember hiring.  
He was losing the grip on his own life, the one he always dreamed of, and didn't care.

The numbing feeling in his cheeks when smiling felt synthetic. And the burn of alcohol soon became with standing after splurging on it for every meal.  
It left him starving...and the hole in his heart began to grow.

Richie almost thought of quitting his job. Sad by the sudden downfall of his emotions, and feeling overwhelmed, he wanted peace.  
And, in the year 2002, when he was a simple, depressed man in his late twenties, the 'savior' to his well being was found.

Food.

Delicious, filling, food.

Richie had never been much of an eater when he was little, far too busy running around, but he was not too picky either.  
But after his twenty sixth birthday, Richie's appetite grew into an unstoppable force.

Now, where food used to be plentiful, none was safe. Not even the fattest, grease types that dripped when you picked it up. Even when he was busy, Richie would find a way to stuff his face. Day in and day out.  
He felt peace when a big binge left his stomach packed tight and heavy. And even took some, ashamed, pride in the fact he could eat so much he wouldn't be able to walk. Tingling with excitement at every little gurgle, or squirm, of his stuffed belly.

Those are the ways he lost himself in the comfort of food for years.  
Never once considering the dire effects of his unhealthy eating, or where it would lead him. He only ate.

Everything was always too tasty for him to feel guilty about but, sitting in his car, he wished he did.

He didn't mean for it to get so out of control. The eating was only meant to make him feel whole again. To fill the hole in his stomach with a warm hug that nothing else could give. But, he never felt whole enough,  
Richie would eat and eat, but a sense of emptiness always lingered when his belly was empty. So, his ate more. Bigger servings, fattier foods, every meal of every day. Desperate to fix himself.

It never happened.

He was too late to find an ultimatum to his constant stuffing in time. And, because of that, he now sits in an empty parking lot. Sweating his ass off, worried he might puke, and scared to sit with his friends.

None of whom he has seen in years, and them, vice versa.

People can change a lot during time apart, but Richie changed too much. It's the question of whether it was for good, or bad, that he can't answer. And it makes him queasy.  
He licks a drop of salty sweat off his top lip, and then stares at himself in the rear view mirror. Wondering who the man he sees looking back at him is the same man from all those years ago.

Richie blinks away crystal tears from his innocent eyes. Hands curling into themselves as he thinks on what he's done to himself.

After years of stuffing his face without a care. Comforted by the ache of his jaw when eating, Richie's body took a massive hit.  
In 2002, Richie was nothing by a lanky, beer bellied, hundred and twenty eight pound frame. A minuscule, to many.  
Though, after increasing his 'diet', Richie was unrecognizable. Ballooning to a whopping five hundred and seventy four pound ball of pure lard. he out weighed over half the men his age.

An accomplishment- if you can call it that- that made him the butt of most Hollywood fat jokes.  
The new 'Jonah Hill' people would say.

Richie can barely breath as he squished in the car seat. The chair was as far back as it could go, but his belly still somehow managed to engulf the wheel with its girth. Pressing against it snugly, it turned, weighed down on his already smoke damaged lungs.  
He was the clinical of health, do you think?

He still shifts in a seat he can't move in, the car bouncing along with him, and wipes a finger of sweat on the leather seat.

Outside the restaurant, a woman with fiery hair is hugging an above average looking man. An obvious romantic tension pooling off of them like a sweet perfume. They both walk, hand in hand, through the entrance.

It makes Richie's stomach rumble. Reminding him why he wanted to come and, at the same time, why he didn't.  
His weight was the most obvious reason why he never wanted to walk foot in that establishment. He didn't think he could even walk the whole way without collapsing. But the thought of judgment from his peers hurt worse than that.

It's not a fair judgment on them, he knows. Considering one of them was quite hefty themselves when he was younger. And it kinda gives him a little hope at being accepted...  
But then he starts to remember who some of them really are...

Eddie Kaspbrak, his first love. He had a whale of a mother. The typical stereotype of a regular, American, fatsass.  
She was lazy, demanding, and just plain dirty.

Sonia Kasprak would put up a front when she'd eat with her son. Only eating the healthy food to then sneak off into her room to snack on her stash of junk. All the while her son's diet consisted of pills with butter and salt less potatoes.

Richie winces at the memory of Eddie, rail thin, scarfing down a mysterious school lunch. Far too hungry to care what it contained.  
The only reason he got the filthy lunch was because his mother, sweet Sonia, left him a sack of water downed soup. Which was the dish, but without any actual ingredients or flavor added to it.

His thin face remained in a cemented state of anger while munching on the mushy cafe grapes.

And it was when they were sixteen, Richie thinks, that Eddie finally snapped.

" I fucking hate her, Richie. I hate her so much! All she ever does is sit around, complain, and eat! Eat! Eat!" Eddie had thrown his hands up in the air, for dramatics, while pacing.  
Richie laid in the hammock while his short friend released the pent up anger.

"The fucking fat bitch," Eddie sharply turns to face him, steaming. ", I fucking hate the fat bitch. I hope she has a fucking heart attack, or her fat neck suffocates her in her sleep. It's what she deserves...right?"

Eddie, in a moment of fearful judgment, twiddles his thumbs. " She does deserve it, right?" His voice fades to a timid whisper, he wraps his arms around his thin body. Scared that Richie will think less of him.  
But the man doesn't remember what he said.

Not even if they ever left the clubhouse that night, or slept in the woods, or anything.  
It's all blank.

His pudgy fingers twist the end of his shirt. Brown eyes starting to shine with regretful tears.

' He shouldn't have come. '

Across the section of vegetation that divides the two plots, The orange 'J' flickers.  
An echoing ding of his phone breaks the hot, silent air of his car. It's cracked screen illuminating a bright red as a single message pops up.

Richie sniffs, wiping a drip of snot away from the bottom of his red nose, and picks up the small device.  
He has to squint at the brightness of it. His eyes already accustomed to the fading light of day.

He adjusted his glasses to make the message become clear. A tight jerk wracks his body at the sender.

' Hey, man, where are you? Everyone's already here. Did you get the right address? We're waiting for you. Please text me back when you get this- I'm worried.'

It's Mike.

Sweet, caring, loving Mike.  
The round, innocent, faced child that did nothing but show kindness to his deserving peers. The hard worker who loved animals and wanted to move to Florida after highschool.  
The kid Richie liked, for a short while...

The only one who stayed.

Guilt and hunger swirl in Richie's belly the longer he stares at the message. His sweaty face a haunting red from his lock screen.

Mike...Mike had stayed for them. To protect them all from...from what? He can't remember. He didn't know..

What he did know is that he couldn't let the losers see him like..this.  
He couldn't stay.

He couldn't be even more disappointed.

Richie grimaced. Gathering up the courage, he typed out a believable response. Sometimes having to go back and delete random letters pressed by his fat fingers. Re-typing mistakes, carefully, so he wouldn't take much longer.  
He read the message once, twice, when finishing and nodded to himself.

' Hey, Mikey, about that. I don’t think I’ll be able to come tonight. I forgot to tell you- I caught some stomach bug on the flight over here, and have been blowing non stop chunks. It's really nasty, I’ll spare you the details. I don’t want to get you guys sick, so I’m leaving early tomorrow. Sorry for ruining the night. I know you guys were just pre-jerking for me to show ;) but i didn’t want to flaccid you with my vomit.  
Tell the other I said hi!’

‘ I would believe it.’ He thinks, hitting send.

Now it's time to go. The rental keys are cold in his sweaty hands as he cranks up the engine. Richie immediately blasts the A/C so his sweat slicked body can finally cool down. He pants while shoving on his seat belt, and maneuvers out of the bare parking lot with ease.

Heading towards the townhouse, his frantically beating heart begins to slow. As if his anxiety was left behind in the parking lot.  
A smile slips onto his chubby face. Shoulders finally fully relaxed for the first time since that awful morning. He lets himself enjoy the cool air as the radio plays absently in the background. Pondering to himself on which fast food place was easiest to grab a nice snack.

‘ Does Derry even have close fast food places?’ 

Richie shrugs to himself, he’ll think of something, and turns left at the stop light. Humming along to the radio.

And, as his brake lights disappear around the corner, a lone figure comes stumbling out of the restaurant doors. 

They come to a stop in the middle of the parking lot. Frantically looking around for something that wasn’t there anymore. Yelling the same word over and over.  
Five other figures follow the first in the exact same manner. Their heads twisting and turning in each direction as they hop about like chickens. Searching.

Richie licks his hungry lips, and turns up the radio.


	2. filled to burst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story is still the same.
> 
> But you changed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE- this chapter might be a bit more sexual than other chapters. If you don’t like that, I’m sorry. Later, later! Chapters should be less fucked.
> 
> Sorry for making y’all wait! Busy with school and quarantine and stuff!!! :(((
> 
> Hope you enjoy! All spelling mistakes are mine!!

Stanley Uris likes to believe he’s a rational man, because he had to be. In his like of work it was required to think rationally and get the best possible outcome. And that’s what made him a good accountant. Rational in the work aspect of things but...terribly irrational when It comes to social interaction.

Especially now.

After twenty seven years, Stanley never thought he would of found himself back in Derry, Maine. Surrounded by long lost friends- family- in an illy decorated Chinese restaurant that’s stuffy air made his lungs compact together and armpits sweat unnaturally. Talking about their lives, loved ones, jobs all the fun jazz that comes with being an adult.   
It’s all surprising to him. Really surprising. Most of the ‘excitement’ that runs through his veins while talking statistics with one Eddie Kaspbrak is due to the lifting of their ‘strange amnesia’, but the rest fills up a lanky body sized hole in his heart. An outline with big, bug looking glasses and almost bowl cut like hair with small curls at the ends. 

It’s almost too much to bear. 

Stan nods absently, almost acting intrigued to be a good friend, as Eddie spouts about...something- he’s not listening- as he tries to quell the awful feeling growing in his stomach. He looks down for a second at his shoes. Studying them with mock interest before sinking back into Eddie’s conversation. Trying to distract himself from the impending stomach ache that begins to brew.

But he can’t stop thinking about the shoes. The brand is one he knows Is fairly popular with young people, and that only few adults in their mid life crisis eras wear them. He’d only learned this when actually buying the shoes- the cashier asked if it was his sons birthday and Stanley had said yes...you know, like a liar- and it almost embarrassed him.   
The losers didn’t seem to care, though. All were just bursting with hugs and run on stories that seemed to never have a true end. Acting like basic middle aged adults.

It’s...boring.

Walking into the restaurant, Stanley was half consciously awaiting a dreadful evening full of jokes about his old man personality and how he had finally reached his midlife crisis after all these years. But it wasn’t until after sitting with the losers for an agonizingly long fifteen minutes, he was begging for the banter. Subconsciously craving jokes about Eddie’s mom that went along with a mouth that just never seemed to shut up. An annoying, head ache inducing, nightmare that would ‘antagonize’ him for talking about his bird watching hobby that he never seemed to out love. Something that would make him angry...or tried...or nostalgic.

But he liked it that way. 

“ Oh, thank you.”

Stan blinked out the fog of his thoughts as Eddie moved from his position- facing him- to turn and thank the waitress as she sat down the fortune cookies.

“ Y’know, these things are bullshit, right?” Eddie ask, all the while reaching for one of the cookies. 

“ Fake hoodoo.”

It makes Stan shake his head, smiling “ Well, they are just quotes printed off of zodiac sign websites,” He reaches for his own cookie as the other losers begin to open their own. The plastic pops open with easy in his pale hands, and the dry cookie slides out onto his palm.  
He inspects it for a moment, cracks it open, and tosses a bit of the cookie into his mouth before even glancing at the slip of paper.

The reaction at its familiar card board taste is instant, and Stan sticks out his tongue while dropping the cookie bits onto his plate of leftover food.  
He digs through the crumbs to grab his fortune, and then turns to Eddie with a wiry smile “ They also taste like shit.” 

Eddie laughs, breaks open his cookie, and takes out the fortune without eating the treat. “ Definitely.” Eddie rubs the paper between his fingers and straightens it out in front of him “ My mom always said they were a ‘gateway cookie’ to diabetes and, as much as it pains me to say it, I agree with her.”

“ Oh shit! Your mom, thats right!” Stan exclaims, pointing at Eddie with revelation “ She was a bitch! Wasn’t she?” He asks it with confidence, but the small tingle of confusion swims in the back of his mind. 

Stan tilts his head and licks chapped lips with his brows furrowed “ Wasn’t she?” He strokes his chin “ Like, with the pills, overprotective nature, and weird doctor visits? Yeah. Fuck.” Stan falls back into his chair with a sigh. Staring at the table cover with blank eyes and his mouth slightly gapped.  
“ Forgot all about that...”

Eddie pulls his whole bottom lip into his mouth and nods with a pointed down grimace “ Yeah,” His exhale is heavy and makes his boulders bounce up to his ears “ She was...wasn’t she?” He looks down at his lap with a somber look but, before Stan can ask, he looks up with a smile taps at his fortune.

“ But, back to these cookies, right? They’re dumb. Seriously.” Eddie stops to squint at his paper, and then rolls his eyes while flipping it towards him “ These things just keep getting lazier and lazier. Mine Just says ‘and’.” He scoffs at the paper like it offended him and lets Bill reach over to take it out of his hand. 

“ And what? And...something?” Eddie splays his hands in front of himself and then leans back into his chair “ I don’t get it.”

Stan raises a brow and looks down at his own fortune.  
And, sure enough, it’s just as lazy.

He looks up at the table “ Mine says ‘pop’.”

Bill pulls his attention away from whatever he was looking at and motions for Stan to give him the paper.   
He does so with no complaint and watches with curiosity as Bill sticks his paper in a line of other fortunes.

When no ones asks, Stan leans forward into his seat “ What are you doing?”

The author doesn’t look up “ It’s a message.” He bites his tongue while pushing Stans fortune between Eddie’s and another one that just says ‘the’  
“ It’s got to be.”

Eddie stands up in his chair to look down at what Bill his working on, his nose scrunched as he reads the puzzle his friends tried to construct “ ‘and pop the?’ Thats half a sentence! And not even a coherent sentence, at that!”

Bill sighs and nods “ Yeah, I know, I’m trying to figure that out, Eddie.” He says this while pushing his own fortune between ‘pop’ and ‘the’. Then sits back to stare at it, thinking.

Mike angles his sight over Bill’s shoulder, reciting the new arrangement for everyone at the table “ ‘And pop goes the-‘...the what?” He looks over at Ben, who has been fiddling with his own slip of paper the whole time.   
“ What does yours say, Ben?”

Ben hesitates before wordlessly handing the paper to Mike and resting his hands into his lap.

It makes Mike frown, but after glimpsing at the paper, he understands. 

“ It’s just an exclamation point.”

Bill turns to look at the paper, and Mike flips it in his fingers to face him. He carefully takes it from the librarians hands and places it at the end of the papers.  
“ It’s the end of the sentence...but..it still doesn’t make sense...”

“ Maybe were missing a piece? Did you guys find another piece of paper in your cookie? Maybe?” Eddie leaves his place to look over Bills over shoulder “ Do you think you did it right?”

“ How else would it go?” Bill asks.

Eddie wiggles his mouth while thinking and shrugs “ I...I don’t know. Maybe...maybe-“

“ And the pop goes?” Ben answers quietly.

“ And the pop goes! Thank you, Ben.” Eddie thanks, snapping his fingers.

Mike shakes his head “ But that doesn’t sound right...we’re missing something...” He rubs at his chin.

Ben sits in his chair, sweating with anxiety, but turns to Beverly with an eager brow raised “Bev?”

All the losers turn to face the quite red head. Their chests stuck in exhale at the sight of the final strip of white paper shaking in her hands.  
No one goes to take it, and no one asks, but Bev wordlessly pushes the paper into the middle of the table for all to see.

And the word makes them all freeze.

Bill swallows thickly and pinches the paper between his fingers. Aware all eyes are watching him, he slowly studies the unfinished sentence and then moves the exclamation point to the side and slips the finally piece of the puzzle into place.   
He leans back with a heavy sigh while all the other losers lean over to read the sentence themselves. Degrees of shock all painting their sweaty faces.

‘ And pop goes the loser ! ‘

Stan feels his face grow pale and hands begin to shake with uncontrollable fear.

The sound of a phone buzzing catches his attention, and he turns his head to see Mike staring at his phone with increasing panic that makes Stan want to throw up.

“ Mike...?” Stan asks quietly.

He flinches back as the librarian looks up at him abruptly. His big brown eyes starting straight into Stan’s own colorless ones.   
Mike’s lips tremble as he stands up, eyes still located with the curly haired man.

“ It’s Richie.” 

The room goes quite, but Stans anticipation to run happens before Mike can even finish his sentence.  
He’s halfway out the door before anyone can call him back, and only finds his throat hurting when the others come out screaming at him to stop.

“ Richie! Richie!”

Eddie tackles him from behind, pulling him close to a slim muscles chest “ Stan, please stop! He’s not here! He’s not here!” He grunts as the man in his arms begins to kick with hysteria “ Ben!”

Said man leaves Beverly’s side the second his name is called and positions himself in front of Stan with a sorrowful smile.

“ Stan, Stan, shhh...shh, it’s okay.” He reaches out to cup Stan’s check, but retracts it as if he’s trying to touch a scared animal and, instead, grips at the crying man’s shoulders.  
“ Please calm down, Stan, we’re all upset but, it’s gonna be okay,” Ben smiles with waining optimism on his face “ Richie’s okay! He’s just sick..right?” Ben turns to Mike as the statement of the sentence calms Stan info confusion.

Stan turns to face Mike as well “ But the fortune! It’s that fucking clown!”   
Eddie flinches harshly at the sentence, loosing his grip on Stan just enough for the man to rip free.

He speaks and reaches for his distressed friend, “Stan!”

Said man’s shoulders tense up and he turns to face Eddie with an angry glare “Shut up, Eddie!” A strike of guilt runs through his veins at the way Eddie could back into himself, but it’s quickly overcome with anger as Stanley turns back to Mike.  
A pale finger shakily pointing into his chest.

“ You brought us back here for the clown! Right?” 

Mike opens his mouth to answer, but Stanley- knowing he will break down if he stops talking- Interrupts him.

“ T-that fucking clown! Fuck, Mike! It’s still alive?” He shoves his hands on his hips fiercely and bites his lip to stop from sobbing “ Why? Fucking why, god damn it! We dealt with this shit fucking years ago! We killed it!”

“ How the fuck is it here? What the fuck are we gonna do about it?!” His voice is bordering on hysterical as more memories of that summer slowly trickle into his system.   
Memories of six....seven kids, outcasts fighting against an otherworldly being that...that just, ate kids.

Stan’s chokes on a sob and lets Eddie ground him with a slow rub on the shoulder “ Richie’s fucking dead...”

Eddie inhales shakily “ Stan...we don’t know that...He could really just be sick, or-“ 

“ Do you really believe that?” Stan pulls out of Eddie grip for the second time that night, scrunching his nose “ What if it’s the clown fucking with us?! Huh?” Stan sharply turns to Mike. His eyes narrowed.  
“ He’s done it before...”

Mike grimaces while looking down at his phone “Stan...Richie said he was sick but...I don’t, we...now” He looks up at the other losers, sadly shoving his phone into his back pocket. Mike scratches his neck with a shaky breath.

“ I don’t know...”

~~~

Had Richie known his friends were deadly worried about him, he would of accepted each call or answered the flurry of texts that shook his phone. Probably give them some half assed try at sounding sick and cook up a lie that went off the explanation he told Mike. Easy as pie..   
But his phone was on the desk beside the door....a whole yard away from where Richie now laid on his hotel bed. Messily eating between the fast food he had bought and the snacks that took up more of his luggage space than actual important things. Like clothes...or a tooth brush.

Though, to Richie, food was important. And, had anyone been in the room with him, that fact would of been obviously clear.

After leaving the restaurant, Richie stopped by a late, twenty-four hour, drive through. He’d ordered whatever food made his stomach growl the loudest all the while biting his finger in anticipation.  
He was surprised to figure out he’d ordered bags, upon bags of greasy fat food but, secretly, he was dying to get back to his hotel room and eat the whole night away.

Though when first pulling up to the two house, Richie was scared about the probability of running into one of the losers and having to explain why he was perfectly, eh, ‘healthy’ and caring enough food to feed a whole family of six for a week. But, after taking some time to think, the losers would likely not even guess he was the Richie they met all those years ago.   
The tons of blubber that coated his body was the perfect disguise for that.

That fact hurt him a little. It makes him feel disgusting but, there’s nothing he can do, now.  
He regrets the years spent eating his way up to teetering six hundreds pounds. How much money he would spend on take out was unacceptable...but since eating took his mind away from the loneliness that seemed to never wane, Richie could never find the will power in himself to stop. He liked it, a lot. The stuffing, the soft comfort of weight keeping his fragile emotions wrapped up in a thick case of fat, all of it.

And, because of that, he never wanted the losers to see him. Not at his worst...

Pulling into the empty parking lot released a lot of tension in Richie’s tight wound shoulders. The perks of getting a hotel in a small town was the fact that not many got a room at the same time. It was always empty of people, even the desk person.  
Which Richie was thankful for as he breathlessly leaned against the townhouse doorway to catch his breath. Unashamedly hugging loudly as he wiped a bit of sweat off his brow. The bags of fast food dripping grease in his arms.

He tried to quickly get to his room- thankful it was on the ground floor- only to have to stop two more times to wipe sweat off his face and catch his breath.

Finally getting to the room was a godsend and Richie wasted no time closing his door- unfortunately, not checking to see that it didn’t lock. He tossed his wallet, phone, and keys onto the desk by the door. Chubby fingers leaving behind finger prints of grease.  
Richie picks up his duffle bag on his waddle to the bed, still hugging loudly. The smell of food makes his mouth water uncontrollably and stomach growl like a starving bear.

Once plopping his massive frame onto the mattress- carful to make sure the frame didn’t break- he dug in.

Time seemed to cease as Richie stuffed food into his mouth. Fry after fry box, hamburger after twenty piece of chicken nuggets- Richie easily slipped into the process of stuffing himself silly without a break.  
The food clouded his mind with a haze of grease. Covering the warning his brain was sending that he was too full and about to burst. Yet, he kept eating. No matter how tight his stomach felt, nor how painful it was, Richie ate, ate, and ate it all until just a few small peppermint candies were left. 

Now, he would of eaten them, too but, after sitting breathlessly in his bed for a few dizzy minutes, Richie found his stomach had swollen up to the point that rendered him temporarily immobile. A scary idea to think about but, to Richie, it was exhilarating.

He didn’t find it sexy, no. Richie would probably look back on this money later and hate himself even more, but the feeling was just a way to fill his hole for a while. Make him happy...for a short while. Like how drug abuses do...  
Richie would rather be a drug abuser than an obese mess, though...

Richie let himself rest against the bed frame. Wincing at the way the wood freaked behind him, Richie rubbed stubby fingers into his gurgling stomach. Soothing the pain as he slowly feel into a deep, food coma, sleep.

Completely oblivious to the sound of his hotel room door creaking open and then quickly shutting. 

A hiccup shook Richie’s jiggly body, arousing a chuckle from the unseeable figure standing in front of the door.

Stark white teeth popped out from the dark. All sharp and shimmering with a dangerous twinkle.  
Richie closed his eyes- letting the effects of his massive stomach finally lull him to sleep- and that’s when the figure pounced.

Stepping out of the dark, a tall man with greying hair and unnatural yellow eyes lustfully scanned Richie’s whale like form. His bony fingers twitching in anticipation to rip off the tight- button popped- clothes that were just barely containing the sleeping man’s swollen torso.   
He smiled widely when Richie hiccuped again, and stalked forward, not giving a damn if the man woke up or not. 

What could he do, anyway? He’s too fat to move.

The man brushes away piles of candy wrappers and chip bags to carefully crawl onto the bed and straddle his thigh around Richie’s swollen tummy.   
Stroking it lovingly with his sharp nails, he tears a line down the shirt and watches in glee as pools of fleas seeped out of the rip. Further pushing the cloth off as the fat kept pushing out and out until the whole shirt exposed a huge, bolder like blob, of white flesh. Clear of scars, covered in hair, and ready to be marked.

A low groan escapes the man’s throat as Richie’s stomach flops out of the shirt and pushes down on his groin. It’s girth helping to sink his legs deeper into thick, flabby thighs. Enveloping them in a warm hug of fat.  
It’s heavenly.

And it’s seconds from the man’s eyes beginning to grow a mysterious green that...there’s a knock at the door....and a voice calls

“ Richie! You in there?!”

There’s a bang, and the door knob shakes from trying to be opened. But, luckily, the door remains closed

The man praises himself for locking the door behind him and- even though it pains him to- he slides of the mammoth of a man’s lap and grumbles over to the door.

Sticking an unlit cigarette into his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed that! Again, sorry for not uploading sooner! Hopefully I’ll have more stuff ready for you guys In the future :) !!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Have a good one!


	3. Hello Robert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ( SHORT) Transition to the next/possibly final chapter :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao, it’s been so long...whelp. Here I am, I guess? 
> 
> I apologize for making this chapter so short, but I had a small burst of inspiration so :/ yeah 
> 
> This chapter might be a bit *explicitly sexual* but that’s okay. The last chapter shouldn’t be as sexual just more...worship !
> 
> :) I hope you enjoy! Sorry for any spelling mistakes!

Eddie doesn’t believe in fairy tales. He believes in facts...and random disease studies on the internet but- that’s not important right now. He knows magic doesn’t exist and fairies don’t grant wishes, but how can he deny what has haunted him since childhood? That...sickly inhuman smile, the razor claws...it was not a man made, nor nature, creation. 

There were no facts, or studies, to prove of IT’s existence or...or it’s coming. 

It terrified Eddie to his core.

The second he remembered that fucking...thing! He wanted to run. Run home to his fat fucking wife, take comfort in the pictures of his deceased mother, and swallow the plethora of pills prescribed to him.   
He wanted safety...but he also wanted his friend.

Eddie remembers Richie. He remember him clearly. 

Big eyes hiding under black curly hair and skin so pale and smooth...Thin arms and legs attached to an equally thin torso and sharp jaw...All pointy and knobby with an ego to fill a whole room.   
He was funny and annoying...but also loyal and kind. Richie loved his friends, and they loved him.

Eddie thinks he loves Richie just a bit more than the others, but Stan is a close second...

It’s gotten off course- all of it- but, what Eddie now believes is that his friend is being held captive by a fucking crazy, murder, clown and is in trouble.  
At least...he thinks so?

They arrive at the hotel, bustling and frazzled as each loser struggles their way out of Ben’s four seater, and stampede their way to the desk. Luckily, an attendee was standing behind it. Their eyes were droopy and uniform a ruffled mess, but they seemed capable enough to answer their eager questioning.

Mike lead the way with his broad shoulders drawn back tight, and Stan scurried right behind him with his back hunched over like a scared dog. 

Eddie let himself get lost in the group of three that followed after. Bev and Ben kept in step while Bill seemed to just race ahead of them by a few seconds or so. Never breaking his stride to hurry them up or even wait on them. He was dead set on making it to the counter as soon as possible.

Mike racked his knuckles on the wooden counter, arousing a flinch from the employee, and stretched as far as he could to meet the workers exhausted features.

He gave a genuine smile.” Hello, I was just wondering if my friend had checked in by chance?” 

The worker tiredly eyed the rest of the losers behind Mike’s back and sighed. They pulled a rather large book out from beneath the desk and opened it to a random page. 

“ Name?”

Mike raised his eyebrows in surprise.” Uh...Richie. Richie Tozier.” 

The worker flipped one page.” How do you spell the last name?” Their voice was flat, and little interest into what these strange people wanted dripped off him like sweat.

Mike hesitated to think, and that’s when Stan cut in for him. 

“ T-O-Z-I-E-R...Richard is his full first name.” Stan spoke it slowly, watching with precision as the worker looked for the name of his friend. He stepped up right next to Mike’s side and gave him a soft smile. 

The worker gave a soft him, and all losers leaned in eagerly. 

“ Yeah...Yeah, Tozier. He checked in a few hours ago, but is says here-“ The worker turns the book around so that the Losers can read it clearly.” -That he checked out half an hour ago...huh, must of been in a rush..” The worker turns the book around to stare at it for a moment, and then closes it.

They place it back under the desk and then cross their arms.” You can go check and see if he is still here, though. Sometimes guests check out but their payment states that they have a few hours left so-“ The worker shrugs and points to the closest hallway.”-maybe he did the same thing.” 

Mike follows the employees finger with his eyes and nods.” Okay...We’ll check and see. Thank you so much for your help.” Mike pushes himself away form the counter and strides off down the hallway.

Stan gives the worker a polite smile and heads right after him. 

Eddie feels his stomach twist as all five of them blindly plunge into certain danger, be it a clown or actual human sickness, and the thoughts of running back home to his safe house, fat wife, and pills become more desirable...

But...so was the safety of his friend.

He sucks down a few breathes, collecting himself, and jogs towards the group.

Their stopped outside one of many doorways, the room being number six eight four, and none of them look prepared enough to knock.

Eddie knows that he isn’t...but as soon as he stops at Mike’s side, he raises a fist and pounds on the door.

“ Richie! You in there?” 

The silence that follows rings heavily in his mind. His stomach sinks, and he raises his fist again.

...

Then the door knob begins to turn.

~~~

The door opens, and an eerie light floods in through the small crack. 

Eddie takes a step back from the door allowing Mike to take his place, and stares at the unknown man in silence.

Mike gives his best smile.” Hello sir, my names Mike Hanlon and these are my friends.” He motions to the group behind him without breaking eye contact.” We’re sorry for knocking so late, but the lady at the desk said that one of our friends was occupying this room...?” 

The strange man eyes Mike up and down with little interest. He looks back into the room at something, and then turns back with a lop sided grin.   
“ Unless your friend’s name starts with an ‘R’ and ends with a ‘obert’ then I’m afraid you have the wrong room.” 

His attempt at a joke hangs uneasily in the losers minds, but no one says anything. 

The man smiles, chews on the unlit cigarette that’s hangs lazily on his bottom lip, and extends a hand.

“ Robert. My names Robert.” He eyes Mike’s limp hand and then grasps it tightly. Forcing a handshake with little thought about how...unnatural it was.

“ It’s nice to meet you.” 

Mike tries his best to look as comfortable as he can.” You too...Robert.” The name leaves a nasty taste on his tongue. He pulls his hand back with little fight and takes a step back.   
Ben rests a comforting hand on Mike’s shoulder. His eyes stone cold as they stare back at Robert.

He receives a carefree smile in return.

“ Sorry for not being much help with...” Robert pauses to think.”...whatever you kids are doing. Hope you find your friend, though. This towns not really the best place to...get lost.” His voice chills the air with a warning, and the Losers take it.

Mike nods seriously and motions for the group to move on.” It’s no problem.” His smile returns, but it’s less genuine then before.” Again, sorry for disturbing you...have a good night.” 

Robert follows Mike with his eyes. He watches as the group slowly trudges back down the hall. Their footsteps staggering every so often under his gaze.  
The one with curly hair keeps looking back at him. His dead grey eyes staring back deeply into Robert’s own fake brown ones. 

He doesn’t think much of it, and slams the door closed. The lock clicking into place.

Robert has to force himself back from punching a hole into the wall. His anger bubbles dangerously beneath his skin, and crooked fingers pull at already damaged hair. 

“ Fucking-...fucking losers!” He spits, kicking the desk next to him.” Always interrupting my-“ a loud moan catches his attention, and he turns around to face the bed. His anger slowly melts away. Allowing a more deviant emotion to take root.” fun...ohoho, hahehm...” Robert laughs and takes a step forward. He looms over the bed, licks his lips, and bites his finger nail hard.   
“ We’re going to have so much fun Richie...haha!...Aren’t we?” His demeanor changes quickly as the heat of the moment makes him begin to sweat. 

The food comatose man on the bed only moans as his blubber hangs over the bed side unashamedly. It’s expansive pale flesh dripping like a milky, jiggly, waterfall.

Robert gives it a pinch. His fingers nearly get engulfed by the fat, and it makes him want to squeal.

“ Yess...” He slurs like a snake.” Ssso much fun, Richie! We’re going to have SO much fun...” Robert allows himself some lack on control and caresses Richie’s budging stomach with care. His thin fingers sinking deeply into it. 

A long tongue flips out of his mouth, and salvia drips from it and onto Richie’s exposed stomach. 

“ Ssso...delicious...” His clawed hands skim over the sensitive skin with want.” sso juicy...” He grabs a handful of flab and shakes it greedily. Watching in fascination as it shakes for multiple seconds after he lets go. 

It’s mesmerizing.

Robert lets his eyes glow a mysterious green as he climbs higher on top of the mountain of flab. The jiggling beneath only entices him to move quicker until, he breaches the peak and looks down at the man’s small, but fat, head. 

Pinned down by a decent sized double chin, Richie’s head stays still immobile. Perfect for what’s about to happen.

Robert licks his lips, and then pounces on his helpless prey. 

...

Totally unaware of the set of eyes peeking down at him from the unlocked window above...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, what did you think??? I want a honest answer cause it’s really been a while since I’ve written stuff like this.  
> I just want to improve :) 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! Have a good day!

**Author's Note:**

> Again, chapter 1 is the slow ‘into’. Two should be better but, who knows :) 
> 
> I really like writing fluffy stuff, but this story might go into sorta big kink territory later on...it’s just, weird  
> Okay, yeah 
> 
> Thanks for reading :) ! Have a good one!


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